A Road Trip, Paul Harvey, and Tommy at His Best

Throughout the years, and especially since his passing nearly three years ago, almost anyone who knew about our friendship has asked me to tell them my funniest Tommy Martin story. The truth is, I have plenty. Hundreds, maybe thousands.

When you have been friends with someone since 1985, back when we worked side by side at The Gaffney Ledger, then all the way through our years together at The Cherokee Chronicle and beyond, you collect the kind of memories that stack up like old editions of the paper. 

Some stories are loud and wild. Some are quiet and only funny if you knew Tommy. And some are the kind that sneak up on you years later and make you laugh out loud in the middle of a grocery store aisle.

But there is one story that rises above the rest because it captures his humor in its purest form. It is quick. It is simple. And it is so perfectly Tommy that anyone who spent even five minutes with him will think, yes, that sounds exactly right.

That is the one I want to share.

We were driving down to North Myrtle Beach for a Cherokee County Chamber of Commerce retreat. I cannot remember the exact year, but I remember Tommy behind the wheel, searching for a radio station like he was tuning a NASA satellite. Every mile or so, he gave the dial another twist.

Finally, he landed on one station. I think it could have been the old WAGI-FM when Paul Harvey came through the speakers, easing into one of his classic “The Rest of the Story” features. Ever since that trip, I have tried to find that exact Paul Harvey story again, but with no luck. If you ever run across it, please send it my way.

Anyway, Paul Harvey is telling this tale about a brutal gang of banditos who stormed into a village and did every terrible thing imaginable. They killed husbands, terrorized wives, abused children, and even slaughtered livestock. Not exactly comedy, but I was hooked.

Then Paul Harvey went on to explain that one of the banditos got so out of control that his own comrades had to gun him down.

The radio went silent for a moment. Maybe it was a commercial break. Maybe Paul Harvey paused for dramatic effect. Either way, in that quiet space I heard Tommy say, in the driest, most deadpan voice imaginable, “What in the hell did THAT guy do?”

It hit me like a slap.

“What?” I asked.

Tommy looked straight ahead and said, “He just said those banditos killed men, women, children, and livestock.”

“I heard that,” I replied.

“Then what in the world was that guy doing that made the rest of them think, okay, now that crosses the line,” he said, with that perfect mix of curiosity and sarcasm that only Tommy could deliver.

He never said another word about it.

Paul Harvey eventually wrapped up his story, but I could not tell you the ending if my life depended on it. What I do remember is laughing for the next four hours as we made our way down Highway 18, merged onto I-26, and headed for the coast. Every time his question popped into my mind, I burst out laughing all over again.

That trip was more than thirty years ago, maybe closer to forty, and I still think about that moment. If you never met Tommy, maybe this story does not hit you the same way. But if you ever spent even a few minutes with him, you can hear his voice saying it. 

And you know exactly why I am still laughing.

When Tommy passed away in 2023, I lost a dear friend, a trusted confidant, and someone who taught me just about everything I know about journalism and storytelling. In the days and weeks that followed, people kept asking when I was going to sit down and write something about him. I always said I would, and I meant it, but I could never bring myself to do it.

I did not want to write about losing him.

I wanted to write about having him.

And today, as I think about that long drive, that Paul Harvey story, and that perfectly timed Tommy Martin one-liner, I realize something. The funniest stories are not really the point. The point is that I was lucky enough to share a lifetime of them with him.

And that is a gift I will carry for the rest of my life.

A Morning Reminder That I Am Right Where I Belong

Some mornings remind you right away that you are exactly where you are supposed to be. Today was one of those mornings. I snapped a quick photo at student drop off as “Barry,” our beloved SDS greeter on four legs, welcomed students with that mix of calm and charm only a good dog can pull off. 

Watching kids light up as they walked in set the tone for my entire day.

I have only just begun my journey at Spartanburg Day School as the Strategic Marketing and Communications Manager, but it already feels like home. It is easy for an organization to say it is a family, but family shows up. That is the difference, and that difference is clear at Spartanburg Day School. Here, they show up. They greet you by name. They make space for you. They let you know you belong. It is more than a phrase on a brochure. It is something you feel from the moment you arrive.

From day one, I have felt welcomed in a way that is both genuine and consistent. There is something special about this place, something you can sense before you can fully put it into words. You see it in the small interactions. You hear it in the laughter in the hallways. You feel it when parents wave from the car line and faculty members check in just to make sure you are settling in.

Private, independent schools hold a unique place in a community. They do more than educate. They shape young lives through relationships, traditions, and moments that matter. Spartanburg Day School does all of that with a sense of pride and purpose that is unmistakable.

I am grateful to be here. I am excited for what lies ahead. And after mornings like today, with Barry making his rounds and students bounding through the doors ready to take on the day, I can already tell that this is a place that not only welcomes you, but invites you to grow right along with it.

Here is to new beginnings, a new chapter, and a new home at Spartanburg Day School.

The Colors Change, But The Calling Stays The Same

People talk a lot about change as if it is something to brace yourself for, but the truth is, change gives life its momentum. A few months ago, I stood alongside colleagues, alumni, and friends as we closed the chapter on Limestone University, a place that shaped so much of who I am and who I became professionally. It was a bittersweet goodbye, like turning the last page of a book you loved and catching yourself reading the final paragraph again just to soak it in.

Limestone will always be special to me and my family. It is woven into our story in a way no new chapter will ever replace. I am an alum, my wife is an alum, and both of our twin daughters earned their degrees and their Limestone MBAs there too. It was more than a workplace. It was family. It still is.

But life has a way of handing you a new book when you think the shelf is empty. And today, I get to crack open page one of a new adventure.

I am thrilled to share that I have joined Spartanburg Day School as the Strategic Marketing and Communications Manager. Which means one very important thing: my closet is about to welcome a bold shade of red, and my longtime loyalty to the Saints has officially expanded to include a fierce, proud Griffin. 

Leaving Limestone was not something I ever pictured. It was a mission, a community, and a calling. I saw students discover purpose there. I met families who believed in what education can unlock when it is personal, intentional, and rooted in care. That spirit lives on in me, even as the doors closed earlier this year.

Joining Spartanburg Day School feels less like starting over and more like continuing the story, only in a new chapter with younger faces and a broader canvas. Limestone was a private independent college, and Spartanburg Day School is a private independent K-12. In both spaces, education is not just instruction, it is relationship. It is connection. It is seeing possibility in every student and helping families feel confident, supported, and proud of the experience they choose.

And just like I did at Limestone, I will be working every day to share the stories of this incredible school, to welcome future Griffin families through authentic marketing and communication, and to strengthen connections with alumni and the greater community. My goal is simple. To help families truly see the value of a private independent education and the lifelong impact it can have. Because the right school does more than educate. It shapes futures, builds character, and gives young people a place to belong and become.

This community is vibrant, warm, driven, and already feels like home. I am eager to tell its stories and help families discover what makes Spartanburg Day School a place where students can thrive from their very first school days to the moment they walk across the graduation stage ready for whatever comes next.

So here is to new colors, new mascots, new traditions, and the same mission at heart. Serving students, serving families, and using storytelling to build connection and purpose.

And if you see me around town adjusting to my red wardrobe and humming the SDS fight song, just know, old habits fade slowly, but new pride grows fast.

Here is to the Saints who gave me a foundation, and to the Griffins who will help me soar.

A new chapter begins, filled with purpose, gratitude, and possibility.

The Power of Visibility in Leadership: Why Walking the Halls and Campus Can Be Your Most Effective Communication Strategy

Leadership does not live only behind a conference room door or in a corner office with framed diplomas and polished furniture. 

Real leadership shows up in hallways, on sidewalks between buildings, in the cafeteria line, and in those quick moments between meetings when people feel seen, heard, and valued. Being visible is not extra credit for leaders. It is one of the most effective and overlooked communication strategies you can use.

In my experience working in higher education and the public sector, the leaders who earned the most trust were the ones who truly meant it when they said, “my door is open.” They did not disappear behind an administrative assistant all day, and they did not use email as a shield to avoid real conversations. Of course leaders need privacy sometimes to focus or plan. That is part of the job. But privacy should not become a fortress. Accessible leaders build stronger cultures, plain and simple.

Presence builds trust

There is something powerful about a leader who shows up where people already are. Stop by your team members’ offices in the morning, even if they are spread out across campus. Keep your door open at times so staff and students feel like they can drop in without an appointment. Walk the campus between classes and take in the energy of the place. It reminds people you are part of the community, not watching it from above.

Grab a tray in the cafeteria and sit down with students or colleagues. Cheer at games for every team, not just the big ones. Show up for a concert or a campus play. Take a road trip to support a team on the road. Engage with parents and campus visitors. These small moments say more than any memo ever will. They say, I am here with you, and I care about this place and the people in it.

Conversations matter more than inboxes

Email is convenient, no question about it. But convenience should not replace connection. Share news over email when it makes sense, but save the tough stuff for in-person conversations. Nobody wants to learn about a problem, a mistake, or a major change through a screen. It wipes out trust and leaves no space for real dialogue.

Talk to people. Listen without rushing to defend your point. Let conversations breathe. Leadership is not about winning every moment, it is about understanding people and helping them grow. A good conversation can solve things an email never will.

Where leaders stand speaks louder than what they say

When leaders hide behind closed doors, people notice, and not in a good way. When leaders move through campus and engage with the community, it sends a different message: I am part of this mission, not just supervising it. A truly visible leader does not have to talk about transparency or collaboration, they live it.

Think of a campus like a story unfolding every day. Each hallway is a chapter, each office is a scene, each common space is a place where someone is learning, struggling, or celebrating. Leaders who walk through that story understand it better and help guide it in more meaningful ways.

In the end, leadership is presence

People may forget the polished memo or the perfectly organized meeting calendar. What they remember is who showed up. Who asked how they were doing. Who walked beside them instead of above them.

Leadership is not only strategy and planning. It is footsteps, eye contact, and real conversations. Show up. Walk the halls. Share tables. Be visible. Let your presence communicate what your title never could.

That is how culture grows. That is how trust takes root. That is how leaders become more than a name on a door.

Every Parent Is a School Marketer: Why Authentic Word of Mouth Will Always Outperform Paid Advertising

If you want proof, come with me to a day that still stands out, even after years of campus events and recruitment cycles.

"Future Saints Day" at Limestone was designed to welcome accepted and enrolled students and their families, letting them meet professors, connect with the Student Success team, enjoy a tailgate, attend an athletic event, and begin picturing life as part of the Saints community. The schedule on that April day earlier this year was full of the things you would expect from a well-planned yield event, yet the most powerful moment did not involve a podium, a slideshow, or the pep band.

It happened when we handed the floor to current parents and simply asked them to talk.

No script, no stage lights, no bullet-point messaging. Just parents who once sat in those same seats, now speaking with genuine pride and relief about their student’s experience. They talked about professors who checked in, advisors who followed up, and a campus where students were seen as people, not numbers. They shared nerves they once carried and peace they now felt. They talked about transformation in the quiet ways that matter most.

You could literally watch shoulders loosen across the room. Pens went down, heart rates slowed, and faces relaxed as families realized, They get it. They know what we are feeling. And their child is thriving here.

No marketing campaign can replicate that.

Because parents trust parents. And when a parent says, “You made a good choice, your student will be supported here,” it hits differently than any brochure ever could.

That panel became one of the most effective recruitment tools we had, not because we orchestrated it, but because we got out of the way and let the most credible voices speak. The momentum carried far beyond the event too. Current parents cheered on social media, welcomed new families, answered questions, and sang the praises of their students’ experiences without being asked to do so.

It worked. In fact, had Limestone not closed, the incoming freshman class was on track to break first year enrollment records. That rise was not driven by marketing dollars alone. It was driven by trust and belonging, family to family.

Here is the truth. Parent voices are not extra. They are essential. When you involve them, listen to them, and empower them, they become your most effective storytellers. Ignore that, and you leave your most authentic marketing channel untapped.

Every parent at every school is a marketer, whether you acknowledge it or not. Better to invite them into the narrative, nurture that connection, and let their lived experience speak louder and farther than any ad ever could.

Your brand travels home in the backseat of every campus visit. Make sure it has a story worth retelling.